Apr 252007

When I was younger, I frequently slept on a twin bed.

But this post isn’t really about sleeping.

It’s about the fact that having my heels hooked over the edges of a twin mattress, knees spread wide, puss exposed, is one of the best routes to a huge orgasm for me. I learned this first when I was a teenager.

I’ve recently rediscovered this, as my current subterranean lair is equipped with only a twin bed. While it’s much smaller than the marital bed, it has the benefit of being quieter, less smelly, and completely bereft of cracker-crumbs, which were all too common in my old sleeping quarters.

If you’d have crept down the steep stairs into my lair the other day; if you’d have slipped out of your shoes so as to keep as quiet as possible; if you’d have poked first your nose, then your forehead, then your eyes around the corner; if you’d have allowed your sweaty palms to rest upon the ledge; here’s what you would have seen:

On the narrow bed, one girl, naked but for her bra, which was pushed down to expose her nipples. Her left hand, squeezing and pinching her left nipple. Her right hand, alternating between thrusting a silvery vibe between her pussy lips and circling said silvery vibe around her clit. Her entire body, thrusting back and down onto a red cock shaped piece of silicone wedged into her ass. Her heels, hooked firmly over the edges of the bed, making the muscles on her legs stand out clearly from the stress of keeping the knees wide, the thighs spread, the pussy exposed.

Could you see, from your vantage point by the stairs, how large the clit had grown? Maybe it wasn’t visible; maybe it wasn’t as large as it felt. It felt like a mountain under my vibe and my finger.

The sensation of that huge red toy was so screamingly good. It was hitting my g-spot from inside my bottom. Each thrust down and back, each time its fat red head caught that spot, fluid poured from me onto the towels I’d wisely placed beneath my bottom. Legs aching, heels numb from being hooked so firmly, I couldn’t stop thrusting down and back. I couldn’t stop my body from wanting more and more and more gushy orgasms. I couldn’t stop until my legs and my batteries all weakened together.

As my brain returned back to this level of existence, I had to look up. I had to glance over by the stairs. No one was there, of course; the house was empty at that moment but for sleeping little ones. Who would I possibly have expected to be there by the stairs?

In my fantasy, I was being watched by a man who’d crept down the stairs, who’d stood at the stairs letting his eyes and his mind roam over my exposed body. He’d wrenched his pants open, he’d drawn out his cock, he’d stroked it while he watched me getting off for him.

In my fantasy, he finally approached me and (physics be damned) slid his cock in between the toy in my bottom and the toy on my clit. He added the missing piece to the hat trick of stimulation.

Greedy, greedy girl, to be unsatisfied by the stimulation I had. Greedy for wanting more.

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Apr 212007


For so long I’d lusted after a piece of Tantus silicone.

I’d heard wonderful things about the company and the products. I’d heard about other people getting to try out their products. I was guilty of extreme envy.

And then finally I was able to request the this red dildo as a review toy.

It arrived this morning, and for the past several hours, I’ve not been able to keep my hands off of it. It’s standing at attention next to me even as I write this. Every few moments I have to stop and caress it. My eyes are drawn to it.

Right after I unwrapped it, I gave it a thorough washing in the sink. Honestly, the washing I gave it was probably just a bit more than thorough. I lathered it up with lots of slippery liquid soap, stroking both of my hands up and down the shaft. I couldn’t stop stroking washing it; even when it was definitely, clearly, most emphatically clean, I was incapable of taking my hands off its slick veined surface.

When I sat it next to the sink, I discovered another quality of the toy that I hope is real and not just an illusion created by my sex-addled brain. Although it doesn’t have a suction cup on the base, the silicone material allowed it to stick pretty firmly to the countertop.

Wow. This opens up such possibilities in my mind. Can I perch the toy on the edge of my bathtub and fuck myself silly on it? I can’t wait to try.

I find I’m so excited, I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free woman can feel, a free woman at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.

I hope I can make the Tantus stay put so I can fuck it.

I hope to see stars, and gush all over the place.

I hope the Tantus is as stiff as it has been in my dreams.

I hope.

(please, please forgive me)

Mar 122007

–click to enlarge–

Art made this for me.Evidently he thinks I’ve earned it.

I tend to agree.

Thank you, lovely Art. You are the best.

Mar 072007

“I’m going to bring a toy for you to try out, ” I’d told him, well in advance of our next scheduled meeting. “If you’re game to be my guinea pig, that is.”

“Oink,” was his only reply.

When I got there, I showed it to him. He’s not had much experience with things in his bottom, other than his own finger and now one of mine. Or maybe two of mine. At different times. Mostly. Two might have slipped in together at some point, but we won’t say too much about that at the present moment.

It’s a soft, completely non-threatening toy. Even in black, it would be hard to feel nervous about something so slim, so excitingly-rippled, so almost-entirely keychain-like.

The specs claim that it’s an inch in diameter, but I don’t believe it’s quite that wide.

My friend and I retired to his bedroom where he put me through my paces. I was kissed, sucked, licked and fingered…oh the fingering. I do love the fingering. But we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about the toy, in his bottom.

So eventually I wandered down between his legs, which he’d obligingly opened wide for me. He’s got such a nice package. Strong thick shaft ringed with a walnut-colored circumcision scar, tight wrinkly balls and the habit of getting hard with little or no provocation. I love that. Muscled curly-haired legs. Brown skin. Ah, but I’m getting distracted again. Toy, in his bottom. Righty-o.

He buried his cock in my mouth while I knelt between his thighs. I spent my time enjoying the smoothness of him against my lips and the hardness of him hitting up against the back of my throat. I’d pull away and slurp in his balls, one at a time, while he moaned. While he moaned–and spread his legs even more for me.

Oh he does like the finger in the ass while I’m blowing him. And I’ve given him the finger in the ass while I’m blowing him. That’s why I knew he’d make the perfect test subject for this ass-toy. When I’d wound him up to the point that his head was back and a small smile flitted across his lips, I asked him if he was ready. He was.

I had him slide a condom down over his new toy (the base of it is deeply grooved; I knew that clean-up would be far easier if we used a condom) and then dribble lube over the head of it. These things he did with anticipation in his eyes. And a hint of fear. But mostly anticipation. I think.

I just smiled reassuringly at him. “It’s very soft, see?” I demonstrated, bending the now-slippery toy in my hand. “And it’s really not much bigger than my finger. I think you’ll like at least as much as you like my finger.” I held them side-by-side for comparison’s sake.

“I’ll take your word for it,” he murmured before then put his head back on the pillow. “I trust you.”

I love that. Of all the wanton reasons there might be to love anal-play, this is the thing I love the most. If you give over your ass to someone, you must trust them. You must open up to them. Having that trust given to me thrills me in a way I cannot explain. Perhaps it’s because it such a contrast to the lack of intimate trust I experienced in my marriage. But as they say, comparisons are odious, and we are talking about the toy. In his bottom.

Because the toy is so appealingly soft, it needed a bit of coercion in order to be slid into my friend. I encouraged it in with the help of my finger while he encouraged his cock by stroking it. “Too much? Not enough?” I asked him, peeking at his face over the tip of his cock, which was dripping pre-cum down his shaft.

“More, put more of it in,” he requested tersely, so I did. I put it in all the way up to the little grab-ring on the end…and then I started thrusting it.

He seemed to like that, if his groans were any indication. My hands were very slick by that point, but the ring helped me hold it firmly. My preference would be for a much more solid ass-toy; this one nearly folded over with the force of my thrusting, but my friend had no issues with the sensations it delivered.

Eventually he stopped me, pulling me up roughly by my wrists. “I have to fuck you now,” he said hoarsely. “Get on your hands and knees.”

“Do you want to take the toy out first? I’m not sure it’ll stay in place while you are in me. The base isn’t really narrow enough for that. It might slip out.” Yes, I really actually said that then. I am such a dork.

“I don’t care,” he snarled, throwing on a condom, and in an instant I was pushed over and roughly pierced from behind. An orgasm roared through him minutes later, as he pushed my head down into the pillows so my screams wouldn’t wake the neighbors.

I like it like that. And because I asked him later, after he’d begun breathing normally again, I know that he liked it like that too.

______

Playgirl Anal Teaser

Feb 162007

In the course of seeking out male companionship, I’ve occasionally found it tempting to check out the competition, as it were.

As you might imagine, it’s quite a melange of the gorgeous, the odd, the desperate, the freaky, and the plain. (In case you are wondering, I’d consider myself to be a happy mix of all the above…er…without the desperation. Without much desperation.)

The other night I stumbled across an ad with a title remarkably similar to the title of this post. See it above?

Ok then. Keep that title in the back of your mind.

On this particular site, there’s a also place for a headline–sort of a brief introductory phrase about yourself. The woman who titled her ad as above wrote a phrase for her headline that I can only imagine she thought was a take-off on the old saying that when a door closes, another one opens.

Right? You know that one? Lame way of promising that it’ll get better soon and all that happy crap.

Surely that’s what she was trying to convey.

Because she didn’t mean…that other thing, did she? It’s just my filthy mind seeing it that way, right?

What was the headline, you ask?

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Every Exit is Also an Entry
into Somewhere Wonderful!

She wasn’t advertising her desire for buttsex, was she??? Nooooo…

Dec 202006

Numbers one through four were your standard-issue, off the shelf orgasms, the kind you have when you’ve needed to come for a few days but life (read: holiday stuff) has kept you apart from your sex-toys.

Number five, ah, that was a good one. My body had warmed up nicely by then and number five was a head to toe moany open-lipped explosion of pleasure.

Number five was delicious.

Numbers six through twelve snuck up on me, one after the next, straightening out my body and causing me to clutch at the couch. With each successive spasm, the craving to have a toy in my bottom increased.

But I held out. The vibe needed new batteries after number twelve. I rolled onto my side, groaning, and fished the batteries out from where they’d wandered under the couch.

Number thirteen occurred as soon as the revved-up vibe began circling around my clit. Number thirteen was a hip-grinding orgasm, one where I had to move or I’d die.

Then I stopped, only for a minute, to slide my toy into my bottom. As my body adjusted to the stretching and circled slowly around my clit, I felt number 14 building.

Oh, number fourteen. Thick hot ropes of yumminess surrounded my bottom before capturing my clit too. The first orgasm with a penetrated ass is intense. All-consuming. It makes me thrash.

I know orgasms numbers fifteen through eighteen happened, because I was counting–and no, I don’t typically count my orgasms. Some strange compulsion suggested yesterday that I enumerate.

And then, finally, number nineteen. I knew it was going to be a huge one, the final one, the biggest one of all for this session. It shook my entire body and the pictures on the wall.

I laid there poking fun at myself for being so lame as to count orgasms; gradually it began to irritate me that I’d stopped on such an awkward number. Come on, I thought to myself, with my orgasm-addled brain, why nineteen? Why not some nice round number?

No more, whimpered the sliver on my consciousness that wasn’t utterly depleted of reason.

More! insisted my clit.

Guess who won?
______

Have you heard Twisted Sister’s version of “Oh Come All Ye Faithful“?

Instant classic. The song had an entire mini full of small people rockin’ on the way to school this morning; even small people who don’t know any actual words were singing along.

This song has done what malls, trees and ringing bells have all failed to do. It has put me into the Christmas spirit.

Thanks, Twisted Sister!

After copious amounts of practice, I can now say for certain that I am officially ready for some butt-sex.

Bring it on, baby!

I can relax enough now that the big end of my njoy goes in with nothing but a soft pop. Really, it’s all about the relaxation, and the hint I was given by a dear friend, which is to push out and then relax when you want something to go in.

Push against it, then relax. It’s drawn right in. If I can do that with a solid metal toy, I can surely do that with a cock, right?

Doggie-style fucking drives me mad with pleasure. Having something in my bottom unhinges me completely. Going from doggie-vaginal to doggie-anal? I might expire from pleasure. So that’s precisely what I want.

And really, since I’m dreaming, why not dream big? Hunky Man Number 1 lies on the edge of the bed; I straddle him and fuck him silly. Once we’re both sufficiently warmed up, Hunky Man Number 2 sidles up behind me as I lean forward and he gently, oh-so-gently, slides into my bottom, and then I scream and scream and scream.

Dreaming even bigger, after I could no longer take it (and there’d been the appropriate amount of cleaning up done), I’d flip over so that Hunky Man Number 1 was on top of me, and I’d find out what it’s like to have someone fucking me who was also getting fucked*.

My bottom is ready, my spirit is ready…now I just need a willing partner. Finding that may be the most difficult part of the process.

______
*I’m not even sure that this is physically possible. Is it?

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